


O Come O Come Emmanuel

by phantomunmasked



Category: Holby City
Genre: Christmas fic, F/F, I Tried, sorry it's a bit of a downer, this is what my brain came up with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomunmasked/pseuds/phantomunmasked
Summary: What can I say, this is what popped into my brain when I listened to Enya's version of this carol. Look it up, it really is quite something. As usual, my neverending thanks to my brain twin muddlethrough (lindsey_grissom) for betaing this. Merry Christmas, one and all. Happy holidays x





	

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say, this is what popped into my brain when I listened to Enya's version of this carol. Look it up, it really is quite something. 
> 
> As usual, my neverending thanks to my brain twin muddlethrough (lindsey_grissom) for betaing this. 
> 
> Merry Christmas, one and all. Happy holidays x

_O Come O Come Emmanuel_

_To free your captive Israel_

_That mourns in lonely exile here_

_Until the Son of God appear_

_Rejoice, Rejoice;_

_O Israel_

_To you shall come Emmanuel_

 

_Veni Veni Emmanuel_

_Captivum solve Israel_

_Qui gemit in exsilio_

_Privatus Dei Filio_

_Gaude, Gaude;_

_Emmanuel_

_Nascetur pro te Israel_

 

__-O Come O Come Emmanuel,_ Enya _

* * *

“I thought you weren’t festive?”

Serena’s voice was quiet, warm through the cool of the room as she leaned against the doorjamb, crossed her arms across her seasonally appropriate jumper.

  
No response came from the figure reposed on the low sofa, hands folded over her sternum.

Silenced ticked by, and then humming, a solo voice, as the track started again.

(the music was familiar and yet not; a haunted version of an already melancholic tune)

Something in Serena’s heart quivered, and she crossed the room in two strides, folded  herself quietly onto the floor by the sofa, rested her cheek against the rough fabric of the cushions; closed her eyes and measured the rise and fall of her lover’s breaths with her own heartbeat.

As the last of the track faded away, Serena felt a warm hand smoothing down her shoulder, raised her eyes to meet Bernie’s.

 

She was stunned to see unshed tears glimmering in those familiar dark depths.

“Oh, _darling_ ,” she murmured, and reached for her, clasping both of Bernie’s hands in her own as she raised herself up, pressed a kiss to Bernie’s trembling lips.

“Serena.”

Bernie’s voice was rough, and it was clear that she had not spoken for hours, had been lying silently on her sofa in...contemplation?

Bernie blinked and sniffed, swiped hastily at her eyes as she shifted, made space for Serena to cuddle close.

And so, that was what Serena did.

(she had long stopped worrying if she was too heavy to lie atop Bernie, learnt that Bernie treasured the security of her warmth, all around her)

The track started up again, and Serena closed her eyes, let it flow around them as Bernie held her close; pressed her ear to Bernie’s chest and listened to the beloved heart that beat strong neath familiar skin.

She felt, rather than heard, Bernie’s deep inhale, the rumble of her confession reverberating through her as Bernie began to speak, low and steady.

“I’m not.”  
  
“Hmm?”  
  
“Not festive.”

Serena nodded, slipped a hand under Bernie’s jumper (decidedly non-christmas themed, but rather black, with maroon, navy and gold piping around the cuffs) to rest against warm skin, thumb rubbing reassuring circles in encouragement as Bernie took another shuddering breath.

“Christmas is… difficult.”

(in the background, a mournful voice imploring Israel to rejoice; their saviour Emmanuel to come)

“We always tried to keep the troops happy out in the field, especially around Christmastime, but there was only so much we could do. No measure of turkey and gravy, flown in specially for us, could quite replace that feeling of… home.”

Serena nodded her understanding, tilted her head to press deeper into Bernie’s hand, sighed at the welcome rake of nails against her scalp.

“Christmas of 2011, some higher power decided it was a good idea to hit us with multiple IEDs to three different convoys on Christmas Eve.”

(the faint echoes of _gaude gaude_ , waves of irony washing over them)

“They brought in 12 that needed trauma surgery. We did all we could. We started on Christmas Eve, and by the time we finished, it was nearly Boxing Day. We… We only managed to save 7. But we did all we could.”

 

Bernie’s voice was cold, and Serena shivered.

This was not a woman she knew.

“You asked me why I wasn’t festive. Well. There you have it. I’ve found it hard to be, since that Christmas. December comes, and I close my eyes and all I see and smell and hear are broken bodies, blood and sweat and the screams - _God_ , the _screams_ of pain, Serena. I was... helpless. There was so little we could do; less than half of us were operation ready. But we tried. We did all we could.”

 

( _that mourns in lonely exile here_ , cried the music, and Serena found her own tears brimming, her grip on her lover tightening as she was held closer in turn)

“I’m sorry,” Serena whispered, scrambling to press kisses to Bernie’s face, seeking forgiveness for a wrong she did not know she had committed.

Bernie let her, let fresh tears fall as Serena whispered her regret, her blind foolishness against her skin, felt the foreign warmth of Serena’s own tears and welcomed it, cradled Serena’s face between her hands, stilled her lover’s fevered apology with a lingering kiss.

“You weren’t to know,” Bernie murmured, bundling Serena close with a kiss to her temple.

“You weren’t to know,” she repeated, pressing a cheek to her lover’s crown, marveled at the empathy and sheer _humanity_ of the woman she now held so near, so dear.

“Who’d’ve thunk that _Christmas_ would be a trigger for PTSD, eh?” Bernie let loose a shaky chuckle, and was gratified when she heard a watery giggle in reply.

( _To you shall come Emmanuel_ )

“So this is what I do now, year on year. Hide away on my own on Christmas Eve and… remember. Repent. Try and convince myself it’s not my fault that we lost them. Listen to _O Come O Come Emmanuel_ until I don’t hear my thoughts anymore. Drown it all out until Christmas morning. Shove it all back in a box, clamber back down to be cheery. To come home, to the kids. Carry on. Be merry, with the family. Marcus never understood, of course.”

Bernie does not hide her bitterness, and Serena’s chin is sharp as she digs it into Bernie’s sternum, glares possessively up at her lover.

“ _I do._ ”

Her whisper is fierce, and her grip ever more so; bruising, almost.

Bernie meets Serena’s gaze, powerful and wise and all the refuge she ever wanted; ever needed.

 

“I know,” she says, and closes her eyes.

 

Listens to the salvation of Israel once more, and sets about finding her way home.

 


End file.
